She's Different
by Follow-ur-Shadow
Summary: A serious of flashbacks before season one, leading Harvey to the realization that Donna is different from anyone he's every met.


**She's Different.**

**Summary:** A serious of flashbacks before season one, leading Harvey to the realization that Donna is different from anyone he's every met.

**AN:** Inspired by The Phantom of the Opera by raffertypaulsen, definitely read if you haven't already :)

* * *

I.

She keeps up with him or he keeps up with her- he isn't sure, the mysterious redhead having a surprising tolerance for alcohol despite switching from cocktails to whiskey some time ago. The only sign she's even on the cusp of being tipsy is her more relaxed laugh and the ever-so-slight glaze in her eyes that seems to catch every light in the room. It's had him memorized for the better part of an hour and he has to keep reminding himself she's not here for '_that_'.

Honestly, he was expecting a certain amount of attention from his publicized win but women throwing themselves onto his desk for actual work purposes _definitely_ didn't enter into his plans for the night.

Still, he stays seated, genuinely enjoying the change of scene.

He can't help it.

She's not like any person he's ever encountered. She meets him at every quip, clearly not intimated, but also softening when the occasional slip of personal information spills from his lips. He's getting too drunk, he knows it, and not a second after he thinks the thought she tells him to go and 'enjoy the evening' like he'd originally wanted to.

A wink follows the comment that steals the words right from his mouth. "_I_..."

"Oooh, too slow-" she teases, sliding his phone off the table to enter her number, "let's hope you can do better with Miss McPherson over there."

His gaze lifts up over her shoulder, a leggy blonde catching his eye with a wide smile, and he sinks back into the booth not even caring that she's calling him out. "How did you-"

"Because I'm Donna." She places the device back between them determined to make sure that whoever he goes home with tonight... it's her name he remembers, "and if I can do _that_ for your sex life, imagine how good I'll be as your receptionist."

She pushes up from the table and before he can think better of it his fingers curl around her wrist, halting the dramatic flare to her exit.

He doesn't do this.

He doesn't get attached to the people who work under him because he's looking to move up not back, but he breathes in the lingering scent of her perfume, throwing her a cocky self-assured smile. "You really think you can handle me?"

"_Please_." She scoffs, trying to ignore the fast skip of her pulse at the fiery touch. She did her research; he's a good man but also has a tendency to be an asshole, which makes lusting after him easy to navigate. "Question is, can you handle being a lawyer without me?"

She doesn't pull away but his hand loosens naturally, reluctantly letting her step out of the hold and when she motions to blonde with one last nod he plays it coy.

Although he deliberately waits until she's out of sight before picking up his drink and making his way over.

* * *

II.

It's late when he gets in, his condo freezing because he forgot to set the heating but rather than bothering with it he pours himself a whiskey instead.

He's pissed, at nothing and no one in particular.

At least that's what he tells himself as the glass flings from his hand shattering against the wall.

Truth is, he's angry at _her_ and he has absolutely no right to be. She'd told him in the beginning that from time to time she'd slip out for auditions and he can't fault her dedication. Every file he needed was at arms reach, every brief highlighted with notes that lined up with his own, and she'd even organised for an intern to bring him a coffee right when she _knew_ he was going to be stressed.

And firing the kid had actually given him a moment's reprieve.

But the three missed calls later had only reaffirmed his frustration at her sudden disappearance.

Like hell he needs to call Lily.

Birthday or not she _ruined_ their family and he isn't about to just let bygones be bygones. Fuck that. Screw Marcus, screw his father and screw Donna for not being there when he needed her.

A sharp inhale bites the back of his throat, the taste bitter as he runs an anxious hand through his hair. She's supposed to know everything, that's what she'd told him repeatedly, but for the first time in his life the aggression melts away faster than the whirlwind of irrational blame he wants to hurl at someone. The only thing she did wrong was doing everything right and he swallows thickly, digging his phone out with a shaky hand.

He texts her because he can't find the words to call, leans on some bullshit line asking how her audition went.

She rings him back two minutes later, concern crackling across the line, because she might not have known something was wrong earlier but she does now.

She _always_ knows.

And instead of lashing out he sinks down onto the couch in defeat. Outside of his family he's never spoken about his mother to anyone and the conversation is brief but takes the weight of the world off his shoulders. She tells him it doesn't matter what they think, he needs to get there on his own because forcing it will only make the situation worse and in that moment he realizes he has complete trust in a person who's never once asked for anything in return.

As independent and headstrong as Donna is, she probably would take that goddamn bullet for him, and even though he's never been one to self-sacrifice; he might just stand in front of a train for her as well.

* * *

III.

"You're nervous."

"I'm not."

She pushes around the leafy greens on her plate and his lips quirk in amusement.

A salad.

Usually she'd order something more filling and he's never been a particularly observant guy but with her it's different. Occasionally he actually tries and it was only a few evenings ago neither of them were concerned with calories, the memory of whipped cream and strawberries rearing itself, making him feel obligated to ask. "If this is because-"

"It's not." She shoots him a glare, the gesture and effort he's gone to not lost on her but when she'd agreed to go to Pearson Hardman with him her conditions had been very clear. They don't mention sleeping together and that has nothing to do with her hesitation or at least not in the way he's assuming. "I just... don't want people to assume things."

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, her head dipping to avoid his reaction, and it's the first time he's ever seen her with an ounce of vulnerability. It's unsettling, stirring an urge to protect her that rests uneasily, pitting deep in his stomach. It's not something he's used to because, _yes_, they slept together but that in no way reflects her value and if anyone's going to question her abilities, they're sure as hell going to have to get through him first.

"Donna, look at me." She does, begrudgingly, and he's never been more serious as he holds her gaze. "I swear to you, no one's going to find out. Not from me."

She bites her lip knowing his reputation often comes at a cost but she's learning to trust him too. He might not be ready for a relationship but she's prepared to put her career in his hands and only time will tell if they can make it work, if two people really can go back.

* * *

IV.

It's stupid.

More than that... and he's completely caught off guard by the force that drives him to her apartment.

It should take at least forty minutes to get across town, he gets there in twenty, and when she opens the door with a dish-towel wadded around her hand he has to stop for a second to catch his breath.

"How bad?" He finally asks, playing down his fear to match the story she'd told him over the phone.

"The food's in a worse state." She offers with a smile, reading how worried he is and immediately feeling guilty. There are a thousand people she could have called but knowing his calendar back to front and being in crisis mode, he was the first person she'd thought of when the dizzying spray of blood had landed across the chopping board. She's not squeamish, not usually, but the fact she's hosting a dinner for her mother's new 'boyfriend' sent her into a tailspin hours ago, one that she's still trying to recover from. "There's a sauce, I don't know if it's salvageable and I haven't gotten the seafood out yet. Plus the instructions said something about a saute, I don't even know what that is but the fish is nearly ready and there's no more coriander left -"

She keeps rambling, the awkwardness reminding him of Louis, and he swallows a sudden flicker of jealousy at the thought of them spending time together without his knowledge. It's a ridiculous fear that he quickly squashes. In the few months since they've been at the firm she's been like a guard dog, warding off the rounder man without hesitation, and he knows he has nothing to worry about- aside from their current situation which steals his undivided attention. "We need to look at that hand."

He ushers her back but she's still fussing about the hors d'oeuvre when they enter the kitchen and he takes her by the elbow, his gaze drawing to the speckles of blood seeping through the cotton. He's already spotted the half a glass of wine on the counter, probably pain relief, and he unwinds the fabric wincing at the gash between her thumb and forefinger.

"It's deep but shouldn't need stitches-" he asses, steering her towards the sink, "run it under cold water and I'll take care of the food."

She nods, the tension seemingly expelling from her shoulders but he takes the weight of it as he switches off anything that's at risk of catching fire.

It's stupid.

More than that... but ever since she called, fear strung tightly through in her voice, he hasn't been able to shake the thought of losing her. Which is why, at some point during the god awful dinner party, when they're both a little too drunk- he makes her promise something; that if she's ever in real trouble she calls him first.

And that next time she hires a _goddamn_ caterer.

* * *

V.

"When did you think you knew, honestly?"

She asks the question lazily, both of them curled up on the couch watching Survivor, and he could easily shrug it off- play his response by the dulcet tone of her voice and make up something vaguely close to the truth; like when she kissed him or started dating Thomas, maybe even after the first time they slept together.

He could wax poetical or map it out but if he's being completely honest, she's had him captivated since the moment they met

"When you told me you weren't after sex."

A hum of amusement vibrates at her lips, the sound echoing against the drama unfolding on the TV as she playfully slaps somewhere behind her. "Okay Romeo, save that speech for our wedding."

He chuckles at her ear, giving her a gentle squeeze as she shifts her attention back to the whatever is happening on the screen. She might not believe it but despite her match-making attempts that night, he really did go home alone. Even back then, he might not have understood the extent of it but he knew she was different.

And he's been falling in love with her since the moment he realized it.


End file.
